Wednesday, December 11, 2013


I have not felt this close to the edge for a long, long time.

It's scary as fuck putting myself out there. Scarier than I had ever imagined.

I don't feel brave anymore. I feel vulnerable and awful.

After being put through hell, I don't have much membrane left on my soul. That's what it feels like: I am rubbed raw on the inside.

I do pretty much nothing but cry.

I haven't processed anything recently because I haven't given myself permission. It's too excruciating, except that it's all coming out now.

I spent today walking around my old neighborhood, old, old neighborhood, shopping with a friend. I went into a cafe and saw a man who reminded me of the young Nearly Perfect Man on Paper, with whom I lived in that neighborhood, and I had to stifle a sob.

I had a very kind and solicitous e-mail from him after my surgery, nearly a month ago. After six months of silence. Why do people do this to me? I wish I could talk to him today as I am feeling extremely fragile: except that it's not his job to pick me up anymore. Some people just do understand me better than others, especially when my soul has no membrane left.

So it's off to pack. Wish me luck.

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